


four senses

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Incredibly Excessive Descriptive Sex, M/M, PWP, Possessiveness, Sex with feelings as usual, Super Subby Spock, come marking kink, porn without plot/plot what plot, super slutty spock? possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9163018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: McCoy can't decide which part he likes best.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for tumblr nonny who requested "spones nsfw prompt: knees". I went a bit overboard and tried to get as descriptive and sexual as possible.
> 
> hope you all enjoy the debauchery!

McCoy can never decide what his favorite part is—the view, the sounds, the smells, the feelings, it all runs together in a messy watercolor display of lust.

He looks down, first contemplating the view; it’s far from a bad one, that’s for damn sure. The sight of Spock’s body covered fully with the softest green flush, offset by the dark wiry hairs smattered across him is just alien enough to intrigue. The jut of his hip bones and all the lines of his body converge bring attention to his cock, shyly creeping out from its sheath. Beyond that, it only gets better. McCoy tilts his head to watch as his own flushed pink dick slips inside Spock’s body over, and over, and over. He ends up mesmerized by the contrast of their skin tones, the way Spock’s greedy rim sucks him in deeper each time. McCoy lets out a shuddering breath at the familiar, ever-lovely sight.

Then, he drifts: the sounds. He’s louder than his lover, something he always anticipated before their relationship even began. McCoy swears, often, quietly but no less eager. He moans, and groans, and tells Spock all the filthy things he can, make the Vulcan’s head spin with profanity. Spock, the other side of the coin, makes the gentlest, most breathless sounds. (At least, most of the time. The days when McCoy can provoke that utter primal side of Spock are loud, animalist, grunting and groaning and Spock feral.) But, most of the time, Spock is quiet. He gasps and shudders and whispers desperate pleas that McCoy is happy to answer. The slick sounds of McCoy’s dick in Spock’s ass is louder than the Vulcan’s own declarations—the wet slide of Spock’s penis slipping out, even louder.

And the _scent_. McCoy moans, loud, and inhales deeply. It’s heady and addictive and he wants to drink in the distinct scent of Spock’s lust for him for ages. He could, often does—they spend hours in bed, McCoy memorizing all of Spock’s body and reveling in the pheromones that roll off him in waves. When Spock finally relaxes and his cock slides free, McCoy nearly comes each time, regardless of whatever stimulation may actually be on him at the time. It’s something of a pavlovian response, he knows, and doesn’t mind in the slightest. Spock’s scent always distantly makes McCoy think of a human female, though so much better. It’s heavier, reassuring, and he breathes in the dry but welcoming flavor in a way McCoy simply can’t get enough of. He breathes through his mouth and then through his nose, determined to take in as much of the sharp scent as possible. He feels punch-drunk on pleasure, Spock’s pungent arousal fogging up his mind.

He drifts again, head lolling until he presses dry lips to the crease of Spock’s knee. This, _this_ may be his favorite part. The feelings, the sensations, the way words unspoken move like electric currents between their bodies. The telepathic connection burns like a well-stoked fire and McCoy soaks in the warmth, love, all of it. It’s fantastic to feel so cared for, to know so surely that his affections are returned and so deeply. He idly thinks of his initial hesitance toward opening his mind to Spock, and stifles a chortle—how silly he’d been. To think he could potentially be missing out on having Spock open: body, heart, but most of all _mind_. Spock sings with praise and pleasure though he hardly utters a word.  It comes through in his thoughts, in the goosebumps that decorate his skin as he shivers, the sweat that McCoy laps at, needy.

He turns his head to mouth at the crease of Spock’s knee again. He pushes at the underside of Spock’s thigh until his lover gets the hint, straightens his leg. McCoy laves his tongue at the soft skin, delicate skin, precious. He nips and tugs, just hard enough to bring a darker green mark to the surface. He feels fevered, suddenly, with the need to mark this fragile spot on Spock’s body. He leans in and opens his mouth to take in the fleshier part of Spock’s knee; he closes his lips around the skin, teeth digging in, and sucks. The friction and suction make his mouth tingle, but he keeps at it until he’s wringing almost pained cries of ecstasy from Spock’s light pink lips.

He pulls away only when Spock sobs, choked off and overwhelmed. He looks down Spock and decides to take pity. He lets Spock thoroughly marked leg fall to McCoy’s hip again, then shuffles forward. He presses long, hard, deep into Spock’s body while looming over him. He kisses chastely at Spock’s lips, darting in and pulling back just enough to tease. Again, Spock’s noises get minutely louder and more frustrated. His whimpers grow longer, a higher and keening pitch. He angles his head up so that each time McCoy presses down, the kiss might last a hint longer. Spock opens his mouth each time and mewls until McCoy licks along his teeth, tongues brushing with sparks of want.

McCoy drops his full weight against Spock without warning, producing exactly the effect he hoped for. The angle is even deeper and Spock cries out in a rare and broken shout; his cock twitches where it’s pressed between their bodies. The natural slick he produces makes their stomachs identical, sticky messes. His come spurts up with force, pent up tension from hours of McCoy teasing him. It hits their chest hair in a purely pornographic display of marking one’s territory, a sight that has McCoy and Spock both growling in delight. McCoy presses their chests tighter together to kiss Spock harshly. He rolls his hips and grinds into Spock’s open, pliant heat, until the urge is too strong and he lets go. He comes deep in Spock’s hole, marking him inside and satisfying something unspoken but bone-deep in each of them.

 

McCoy can’t decide which part he likes best, so he supposes it’s a good thing he doesn’t really have to choose.


End file.
